


Death & Taxes

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21833857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: The only two certainties.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Death & Taxes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisalicious/gifts).



“You promised me a _cookie_.”

“I said you could have one if you finished your taxes.”

“I wasn’t _born_. So I don’t have a national security number. And I don’t need healthcare. And--”

Aziraphale clutched the small box of cookies closer to his chest, refusing to let prising hands wriggle into the inner wrapper. “You create litter which must be disposed of. And you use the roads. Which - may I also remind you - there is vehicle duty?”

“I don’t produce emissions. I’m carbon neutral.”

“Street lighting is--”

“ _I can see in the dark_.”

The principle of the thing was the important part. “You watch the BBC. And - and - you--” Oh.

“What?”

“Noth--”

“ _What?”_

Aziraphale didn’t feel like cookies any more. He folded over the foil inner and clicked the cardboard tongue into the slot. “I was simply thinking of other uses of taxation. Such as emergency services.”

“I told you, I don’t get sick, I don’t get caught doing crimes, and I--”

The penny proverbially dropped. Fire. Fire engines. Firepersons. Fire. 

“Fat bloody good they did,” the demon said, shoving the forms away from him. “I’m not doing it. If you want to file them for me, whatever, but I’m not doing it.”

The angel looked down at the paperwork. “Perhaps if they had had more money... though, Adam did rectify the issue, and it isn’t as if I was... very well. I’ll do yours for you.”

Crowley tilted his head. “Isn’t there customs and excise on... alcohol?”

“Yes?”

“So, if I bought a _large_ cellar...?”

“You would have a lot of wine,” he agreed, but smiled, too, because yes. There would be duty. Especially if imported from, say, the new world.

“Right. You do the boring paperwork. I’ll find us a hermetically sealed cellar. And cookies don’t go with wine. Don’t even _try_ to tell me they don’t.”

“Cheese and crackers?” Aziraphale offered, by way of compromise.

“Fine.”

“I’ll make sure I get your favourites,” he added, even more cheerily.

Crowley’s answer was a grunt, but he meant it. 


End file.
